


Five O'Clock And Late

by missjay1988



Series: How To Change Your Life In Eight Days [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Time, Fluff, M/M, Sherlock Is In Trouble, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-02
Updated: 2013-09-02
Packaged: 2017-12-25 09:16:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/951345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missjay1988/pseuds/missjay1988
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John wants Sherlock to meet him at Angelo's for dinner, no exceptions; he has an important question. But what happens when Sherlock loses track of time?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five O'Clock And Late

**Author's Note:**

> Written for tumblr user iamshurlocked. (♡) I only hope it is worth the wait.

“Sherlock, I don’t care what experiment or case you’re working on; at five o‘clock tonight, I want you to meet me at Angelo’s. After the microwave and liver incident, I was promised a relaxing dinner, distraction free, and I’m going to collect.”  Sherlock looked up from his tea, blinking slowly. It was only eight o’clock in the morning.

John’s voice promised retribution if his flatmate didn’t comply. If it had been anyone else, Sherlock would have ignored it gleefully. As it was, Sherlock had no intention of annoying John, especially so soon after the last fight. “Of course, John. And am I to assume that I will be paying for tonight’s dinner?” Sherlock wouldn’t be surprised if he was; John had been quite upset to come home and find liver fragments splattered throughout the kitchen (including his favorite tea cup) and the microwave a burned-out shell.

“No, I’ll take care of that. The only thing you have to do is show up, and on time.” Unlike his voice, which was unyielding, John’s eyes practically begged Sherlock not to let him down.

Sherlock looked suspicious for a moment, before his face cleared and he nodded firmly. “Alright, I’ll be there. Five o’clock.”

John’s sudden smile was blinding. “Wonderful." With that, John left his best friend sitting in the kitchen and left for work

*

Less than thirty minutes later, Molly texted Sherlock to tell him that the cadaver he wanted was available for his latest experiment. Quickly washing his teacup (did he mention that John had been really mad?), he dressed and raced out of the flat.

*

Five o’clock came and went without Sherlock lifting his head from his lab equipment. His phone had gone off several times. Each time was ignored. Lestrade could wait.

*

At half past six, Molly walked into the lab, meaning to drop off some papers and leave for her date with Greg. She was surprised to see Sherlock bent over his microscope. “Sherlock, what are you still doing here? Did John cancel?” That didn’t seem likely, but surely Sherlock hadn’t forgotten.

“What?”

Then again…

“Sherlock! I can’t believe you forgot! You were supposed to meet John at five!

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “I have plenty of time. It’s not even…” His eyes found the clock hanging on the wall. “Oh fuck.” Panic. He picked up his cell and saw that there were seven new texts and four missed calls. Not bothering to look at or listen to the messages, Sherlock rushed past Molly and out of the lab, leaving his experiment to ruin.

Molly shook her head in despair, cleaned up Sherlock’s mess, and left to meet her husband.

*

After telling the cab driver to take him to Angelo’s, Sherlock finally looked at the text messages, and immediately wished he hadn’t.

 **5:15pm  
From: ** John

_Sherlock, where are you?_

**5:22pm  
From: ** John

_Are you okay?_

**5:46pm  
From: ** John

_Are you dead?_

**5:59pm  
From: ** John

_You better be dead._

**6:07pm  
From: ** John

_Because I’m going to kill you._

**6:13pm  
From: ** John

_All you had to do was show up, and you couldn’t even do that._

**6:28pm  
From: ** John

_Fuck you, Sherlock. Fuck you._

Sherlock winced. He debated texting John to tell him he was on his way, but quickly decided that would only make the situation worse.

Eighteen minutes later, the cab pulled up to the restaurant. He threw some bills at the driver, and walked to the door. Angelo’s looked closed, only one light on, the one over his and John’s table. Had Angelo closed early for some reason? Or had John asked him to close for them? It was certainly out of character for John to ‘take advantage’ of his friendship with Angelo, despite the fact that the owner adored the doctor. But John had been acting nervous that morning, like he was planning something different and scary. But why would he want the restaurant empty?

Opening the front door, he called out for John, taking a seat at the table by the window they had claimed as their own that first day. Instead of his blogger, however, Angelo walked out of the kitchen, scowling when he saw Sherlock. “Where have you been? John left almost a half hour ago, heartbroken that you never showed up. How could you do that to him? I thought you cared!”

Sherlock bristled at the implication that he didn’t care about John. He more than cared. He loved him. Was in love with him. Not that he would ever tell John that. It had been hard enough to get his best friend back after the fall; he refused to make things worse, to push John away by telling him that his feelings were so much more than their amazing friendship.

“Of course I care. I merely got caught up in an experiment and had no idea that so much time had passed. I did not forget or anything of the like; I simply lost track of time.” He stood up to his full height, glowering at the Italian.

Angelo glared back, pointing at the window, in the general direction of 221B Baker Street. “Well, I suggest that you tell John that. Before he does something you both regret.”

Sherlock paled at the implication of John leaving him for good and raced out the door, sprinting down the street. Five minutes later, he wretched open the front door to 221, taking the stairs two at a time, slamming open the door to his flat.

John, who was holding his head in his hands, sitting on the couch, bolted up at the sound of the door crashing into the wall. Sherlock heard something thump softly as John stood up abruptly.

When John saw it was Sherlock, his look of shock quickly transformed into one of wounded fury. “Where the _hell_ have you been? You promised me, Sherlock! Stood in our kitchen and said “of course, John”. Did that really mean anything? Or were you just trying get me to shut up and get out of the flat? How long did it take for you to disappear and hide?”

“I left for St. Bart’s approximately a half hour after you left for the clinic. But…”

“St. Bart’s?! Bloody hell, Sherlock. You ditched me for a case, didn’t you?”

Sherlock took a step closer to him, freezing when John’s glare darkened. “No! I was…” Sherlock paused, uncertain as to whether the truth would help or hinder the situation. His voice seemed to have abandoned him anyway. John took his silence as the damning evidence he needed.

“You were what, Sherlock? Hiding a case from me? Did you find it on your own? Go searching as soon as I left? I know you didn’t get it from Lestrade; he knew what I was planning, so you must have.” John’s anger made his height insignificant, somehow allowing him to tower over his friend. “Decide that you didn’t need me or my help? My input? Well, forget it, Sherlock. I’m done. This was obviously a horrible idea and I’m…”

Panic loosened his tongue, the words flowing without thought. “Please don’t say you’re leaving me. I couldn’t handle it. I wasn’t hiding anything from you, I swear. I messed up, completely, and I’m willing to do whatever I have to do to make up for this. But please, don‘t walk out that door.”

John blinked in confusion, then rolled his eyes, and collapsed on the couch behind him. “I’m not leaving, Sherlock. If you had let me finish, I would have said ‘going to bed’. I’m pissed, not stupid.” He rolled his eyes again for good measure.

Sherlock sagged in immense relief and minor embarrassment, landing in John’s armchair. They were silent for a few minutes, each one thinking about where the night went wrong. Suddenly, Sherlock remembered something John had said during his angry rant.

“John?”

“Hmm?”

“You said that Lestrade knew what you were planning. That implies that this was more than a simple dinner to make up for the microwave. If that’s the case, what were you planning?”

John flinched, a light blush flooding his face. “Nothing. it doesn’t matter anymore. As I said, it was stupid, and I don’t know why I thought it was a good idea in the first place.” He stood up to escape the room, but Sherlock placed his hand loosely around John’s wrist, stopping his movement.

“No, it’s not. Tell me. Please.”

“Why do you want to know so bad?” John’s eyes narrowed. “If this is just to satisfy your damn curiosity, then…”

“No, I mean, yes, I’m curious, but that’s minor. I want to know because it’s obviously important to you, and that makes it important to me.”

John stared at him for a moment, trying to see if he could find an ulterior motive in Sherlock’s eyes. Sherlock let him look, sitting completely still. Finally, John closed his eyes. Taking a deep breath, he opened them, and spoke.

“Will you marry me?”

Sherlock’s eyes widened. “What?” The shock was clear in his voice, and the fact that he was the cause made John smile a bit.

Pulling out of the now loose hold Sherlock had on his wrist, John bent down and picked up a box. Sherlock realized that the box hitting the floor was the thumping he had heard earlier, but the thought was distant and muddled. Surely he couldn’t have heard what he thought he had. Surely it was just his imagination, running away again.

He came back to the present as John lowered himself to one knee and opened the box to reveal a silver wedding band. “Marry me?”

Sherlock sank to his knees in front of John, one hand reaching out to gently brush against the cool metal. “Why? Why do you want to marry me?” His wide eyes met John’s and John smiled wider in response.

“I know that we aren’t lovers, and dating, or any of the things that usually come before this question. But it makes sense. We make sense. Think about it logically, Sherlock. The legal benefits alone are astounding; if anything happens to one of us, we will have medical privileges, be able to see the other in hospital and the like, and I would then supersede Mycroft and you would be above Harry, legally, as family. We already live together and share money, so now we could easily pool our monetary resources into one account. Women and men would stop hounding you day and night, we would have a better guarantee that someone will always be there.”

Sherlock nodded in agreement, but he felt his heart break a little. Those were all solid reasons, if not only achievable by marriage. But they weren’t what he wanted to hear. “Is that all? Are those your only reasons?”

The blush was back on John’s face. “Well, no, not really, but I thought you would be more appreciative of the logical reasons.”

Hope bloomed in Sherlock’s chest. “Tell me the non-logical reasons. Just so I have the full picture.” He swallowed hard, his eyes pleading with John. “Please.”

John reached up the hand not holding the ring box, and cupped Sherlock’s face softly. “I love you, completely, without reservation. I want to make love and hold you at night. I want to yell at you for never cleaning up after yourself, and chase after you in the streets of London, and listen to you berate Anderson. And I want to do all that and more with you wearing my ring. The two of us against the rest of the world.”

Sherlock’s eyes closed, a tear slipping down his cheek. “I want that. Yes.” John laughed, thumb wiping away the tear before dropping to pull the ring out of the box. Sherlock’s eyes flew open at the feel of cool metal sliding on his left ring finger. Once it was seated securely, he looked around for another box. “Don’t you have a ring, too?” His voice was openly hopeful; he wanted everyone to know that John was his. That meant hands off.

“Of course. You can get me one for the wedding and I’ll wear it after that. For now, I want everyone to know that _I_ proposed to _you_.” John’s grin was loving and smug at the same time. Sherlock had no choice but to lean forward for their first kiss.

It was soft and sweet with a hint of heat and passion. They ended the kiss a few minutes later, John pulling Sherlock up off his knees, and leading over to the couch. John wedged himself in the corner, and settled his fiancé between his legs, holding him close. Sherlock wrapped his long arms around John’s waist, fitting himself as tightly against his body as possible.

“So, why were you late?”

Sherlock winced, not wanting to fight, but knowing that not answering would just lead to one anyway. “I lost track of time. I was doing an experiment, and I had no idea I had been there so long. I ignored the texts because I thought they were from Lestrade. I didn’t forget, I promise.”

John couldn’t help but laugh, annoyed at Sherlock’s ability to forget the world around him, but happy that he had been wrong in his assumptions. “What am I going to do with you?”

Sherlock grinned. “Oh, I have a few ideas…”


End file.
